Used
by vampirebabe
Summary: They were used up and cast aside, only to be used up again and cast aside once more. Tired of being used and cast away, they did something about it.
1. Chapter 1: Harry Potter

**Chapter 1**

**Harry Potter

* * *

**

Wind blew harshly in the autumn air. The dead leaves were lifted from their resting spots on the ground to be thrown back up in the air to dance, dance, dance. They were not in control of their actions, but the wind was. The wind was the master mind of this beautiful dance of the leaves dancing, dancing in the air.

The wind controlled the spinning, the twirling. The wind controlled the twisting, the whirling. The wind controlled when they rested. The wind controlled when they danced. The wind controlled everything, everything that the leaves did.

A boy with messy raven black hair and striking green eyes smiled as he thought about this. He thought about the similarities between him and the leaves. He was a leaf too, in his own way. He was always dancing, spinning, whirling, twisting, twirling at the whims of another. He never got to rest. He never got to dream. All he did was dance, dance, dance for those who bid him to dance.

11:53

Of course, he didn't dance. No, he fought. It was all he did. He fought bullies. He fought death eaters. He fought Voldemort. He fought the ministry. He fought with everything that he had ever had and with what remained of what he had once had.

The leaves used to have so much. They sat in trees, soaking up sun, keeping the tree that bore them alive. They helped absorb water and rain to make seeds, nuts, fruit and flowers. Then the autumn came and they were discarded by the tree that had used them, only so the leaves could be used by the wind to do the bidding of the wind until they could no longer do it's bidding.

11:54

The boy with the lightning etched into his brow had once had a useful life where he was used. He had thought he was happy. He had, had friends, family, a home, and mentors to protect him. They had used him. And used him. And used him. They had used him until they couldn't use him anymore. Once his usefulness had been used up, they had discared him. Discared him like the tree had discarded the leaves.

11:55

Then he had been used by the ministry, who had wanted to look good. The ministry had used him like the wind had used the leaves. They had made him dance, dance, dance through so many political parties and messes that he had finally slipped. Then, then the ministry had thrown him away, just like the wind finally discards the leaves.

11:56

Now, here he was. Alone. Used. Another leaf discarded by the cruelties of the world.

11:57

The boy, only sixteen years old, chuckled. He patted the limb of the tree that he sat in and closed his eyes, a strange smile twisted upon his lips. The wind died down as he was stared down at the watch on his wrist, watching as the numbers ticked by.

11:58

11:59

12:00

"Dear tree, I'm gooing to use you like you used the leaves. I'm sorry." and with that, the boy jumped from the tree with an audible '_crack_' filling the air.

12:01

The wind then began to pick up again. A soft creaking filling the air that had not been there before.

* * *

Twenty six people were waiting impatiently for the guest of honor to show up for his surprise birthday party. They had, had this planned for the past two months because they had seen how depressed the boy had become after he had defeated Lord Voldemort.

Each one of them knew that they had been guilty of neglecting the boy after his defeat of Voldemort. They had just gotten so caught up with their cheer of the oppressing monster being gone from their lives and with fixing all the tears that the madman had caused in their lives that none of them had considered how the boy may be doing. When they had realized this, they had decided to make it up to him by throwing him his first ever birthday that he would remember, even if it was a belated birthday.

The entire Weasely family was sitting around the living room of Grimmauld Place with the birthday cake sitting on the coffee table. Muggle and wizarding balloons filled the room with streamers stretching from all corners of the room up high by the ceiling.

Molly Weasely and Aurther Weasely were the eldest Weaselys in the room. Next came Charlie Weasely, Bill Weasely and Percival Weasely. After them came Fred Weasely, George Weasely and Ron Weasely. And finally, the youngest Weasely there, Ginny Weasely.

Hermione Granger sat with Ron Weasely, along with Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan. Nearby sat Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, the once best friends of the boy's father. By the door sat the formidable Minerva McGonnagal, the head of house for the boy, and before him, his father.

In the kitchen, one Albus Dumbledore was frowning down into his tea cup, also waiting for the expected boy. Alaster Moody (aka Mad Eye Moody) was sitting in the corner with his fellow aurors, Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Alastor Moody kept shooting glares at the far corner while he discussed auror business with the other two while they waited for the boy to arrive.

In the far corner where Alastor Moody kept glaring sat a man by the name of Mundungus Fletcher whom was notorious throughout the entire group in the house as a low life thief. He was sitting in the corner, fast asleep, trying to sleep off his latest hangover before the boy that they were awaiting got there.

Then scattered through out the rest of the house was Rubeus Hagrid, Filius Flitwick and Xiamora Hooch. Pamona Sprout and Aurora Sinistra were both sitting in the drawing room, both of them enjoying some firewhiskey before the birthday boy arrived.

Finally, in irritation, Hermione Granger rose to her feet, startling everyone in the living room.

"I'm going outside to the backyard." announced Hermione, irritated that the birthday boy hadn't come even though they had sent him an owl the night before for him to come to Grimmauld place promptly at three in the afterrnoon.

"Hermione, I'm sure he has a good reason-" Remus began but Hermione had already left the room. Remus sighed, shaking his head, before he turned back to discuss old times with Sirius some more before Harry showed up.

Hermione stormed to the backdoor, planning on venting some of her irritation at her friend's tardiness while she was in the backyard. She paused for a second when she noticed that the backdoor was open, which was a little strange, but she just shrugged it off. Someone had probably just forgotton to shut it all the way. She opened the door the rest of the way and went outside.

She walked through the freshly cut grass, Sirius only having cut it two days prior. He had been so excited about his godson's upcoming birthday that he had done it the muggle way. Hermione smiled when she remembered the funny story that Remus had told them earlier about Sirius's adventure with a muggle push lawn mower. It had been quite amusing.

Hermione stopped suddenly, frowning. The wind was blowing her hair in her face, making it hard for her to see, but she thought that she had heard something.

_Creak... Creak... Creak... Creak_

Hermion bunched her hair up in her hand and held it behind her head, peering about the backyard. When her eyes landed on the single yew tree in the far back of the yard, she froze.

Then, she screamed. She screamed so loud that she wasn't even sure if it was her screaming. All she knew was that the screaming kept going on and on and on. It seemed to never end. Whenever she thought it would end, it didn't. It just kept going.

All the people inside of the house came running and stopped beside her, staring in horror at what she saw. No one tried to stop her. All they did was stare as she kept screaming and screaming.

Before them, the boy whom they had been waiting for, was dead. Dead from having hung himself from his godfather's tree.

Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived-and-killed-Voldemort, had killed himself.

* * *

_**Hey, I'm not done. This is just the first chapter. There's going to be three in all. **_


	2. Chapter 2: Severus Snape

**Chapter 2**

**Severus Snape

* * *

**

A dark man was sitting in a worn brown leather chair that was facing a fire place. Inside of the fire place, a warm fire was crackling away, the only sign of anything unusual about it was the fact that the flames were a bright blue rather than their normal orange, red, yellow and white colors.

The man himself had a rather sad look on his face, his eyes glazed over as he thought about the past. How he had been used over and over and over again. He had finally been used once too many times, and now, now he was ready to stop it. He finally had the strength of will to stop it. For a moment, a slight smile flittered across his lips, but if anyone had been there to witness it, they would have written it off as a passing fancy of their own rather than the fact that the man had almost smiled.

Rain.

He was like the rain. It was used by everyone and everything. The earth used it, the plants used it, animals used it, people used it, and even lakes, rivers, seas and oceans used the rain! Rain was always used and never thought of. No one ever thought to thank or even consider the rain. All they ever did was expect it and wait to use it for their own gain and purposes.

_Dong._

The clock in the corner began to chime and the dour man peered over at it, considering. Even though he could see what time it was, the man silently counted the chims.

_Dong._

He was tired of being used.

_Dong._

He had been used by his father.

_Dong._

He had been used by his mother.

_Dong._

He had been used by his only friend, Regulus Black.

_Dong._

He had been used by his potions professor, Slughorn.

_Dong._

He had been used by the woman he had loved, Lily Potter.

_Dong._

He had been used by the headmaster.

_Dong._

He had been used by Sirius Black.

_Dong._

He had been used by Voldemort.

_Dong._

He had been used by the wizarding world.

_Dong._

Finally, he just close his eyes when the chiming ceased. He reached up to his breast pocket with his right hand and extracted a small vial that was filled with a transparent yellow liquid. He slowly removed the stopper with his left hand and then inhaled the fumes that was released from the unstoppered vial.

Rain.

He loved the smell of rain. A smile made it's way across his thin lips and then drank the yellow liquid slowly, letting it cover his tongue, trickle down his throat and into his stomach. He then dropped the vial, relaxing against his chair,his eyes closing. After five minutes passed, the man had failed to move, completely relaxed, appearing to be asleep in his chair. The only problem was the fact that his chest failed to move to prove any sign of breath.

In the silent room, the fire crackled away while outside, it rained.

Rain.

* * *

An elderly man made his way down to the dungeons of his school, his cheerful expression that was usually on his face was absent. In it's place was a sad and worried look. In his hand he held a note from a young man whom he had cared for, for many years and had passed away earlier that morn. 

The elderly man's purpose in those dungeons was to check up upon his potions professor whom had earlier failed to show up at the young man's belated surprise birthday party. Even though the elderly man was aware that his potions professor hated attending social functions and the young man himself, he would have still shown up just to toss around a few insults towards the young man's godfather for they were the worst of enemies, or so they claimed.

The elderly man, by the name of Albus Dumbledore, came to a hault in front of a statue of Grindewald, the dark wizard whom Albus Dumbledore himself had defeated. Smiling slightly at his potion professor's humor in trying to keep him away, the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, lifted up his hand and whispered 'McGonnagal', the password that would allow him to enter the guarded room.

The statue moved aside and Albus swept in. He looked about the room, shaking his head at the dark state of the room. Why the potions master insisted on keeping rooms so dark was a mystery to him. Who couldn't love the vibrancy of colors that represented life in general?

He then walked around the chair that was sitting in front of the fireplace, facing away from the door. He found his potions master fast asleep, a small smile on his lips. Albus smiled slightly, his blue eyes twinkling slightly. So this was why he had failed to arrive earlier. He had been so tired that he had fallen asleep in his armchair and had slept through the mornings events.

Albus took a step towards the man, to wake him up and felt something underneath of his foot.

_Crunch._

Albus took a step back and peered down in the dim lighting. It looked like he had stepped on a vial. Frowning, Albus turned back towards his potions professor. Reaching over, Albus shook his shoulder. The look of concern instantly turned to one of fear. The potions master was as stiff as a board.

Albus touched the man's cheek and found it ice cold. Suddenly, realization washed over the headmaster, who fell to his knees, tears filling his eyes.

The dead man before him was the man whom he had considered a son. He had loved him dearly, only ever wanting the best for him. It had broken his heart every time he had gone back to Voldemort to gain more information for their side, making his heart freeze in fear that he might not return. He had begged him numerous times to quit spying, but he had always refused.

And now, now that Voldemort was finally dead, and the man had a chance to live in freedom, he was dead. Dead by his own hand.

With tears spilling down his cheeks, Albus Dumbledore managed to choak out a heart wrenching question.

"Why Severus? Why did you kill yourself?"

Severus Snape was dead, and so thus, could not answer.


	3. Chapter 3: Double Funeral

**Chapter 3**

**Double Funeral**

* * *

The sky above was darkened by clouds that were heavy with impending rain and the wind was blowing with a firm undertone, tossing leaves about in the air. The grass was crunchy underneath of the feet of the people whom had just left, with winter only weeks away. The air was cold, chilled by the cold winds coming in from the north. 

Despite all of this, five people stood before two tombstones that rested at the head of the two freshly dug graves. They were what one could consider a strange bunch. They all wore black cloaks and robes with no gloves and regular boots. A rather old fashion style, with two of the five looking rather raggedy in cloaks that were obviously older than all of the others in the five person group.

One of these five was a rather elderly man. He had white hair with a matching beard that extended far past his waist. His baby blue eyes were sad and had a lifeless look to them. Tears were glittering on his wrinkled cheeks, and his half moon glasses were perched perilously on the end of his beak like nose.

Two of the five were men in their middle ages. One had shaggy black hair, blue eyes that were dulled with grief and had heavy bruises from lack of sleep around them. He was pale, as if he hadn't seen the sun in quite a while, and too skinny to have been eating regularly for the past few years.

The other had brown hair that was liberally streaked with gray, giving him an rather sophisticated air of a gentleman. The only downfall was the fact that exhaustion was shone on his pale, haggard face, and his amber eyes were too, struck with grief. This man was wearing a pair of worn, patched and fraying black robes that had obviously seen better days a decade or so ago. He held onto the other middle aged man, whom was sobbing softly, staring at one of the two graves in particular.

The remaining two of the group were teenagers, quickly coming up to the marker of young adults. One was a girl with brown bushy hair, the other a gangly and tall red haired boy. Both were hugging each other, staring at the same grave as the other two men, while the first elderly man, gazed particularly at the other that the four of the group seemed to ignore.

The gravestone to the right read:

_Harold James Potter_

_July 31, 1981 - October 21, 1998_

_He didn't want to be used _

_by the wind anymore._

Below this inscription, written so elegantly upon the cold, white marble of the gravestone, was an etching of a maple leaf. The leaf gave the impression of twirling in the wind, to symbolize what the young man, whom had committed suicide by hanging himself, had written in a note that they had later found in his jeans pocket.

The gravestone to the left read:

_Severus Seripan Snape_

_April 1, 1961 - October 21, 1989_

_He didn't want to be used_

_by any one or thing._

Below this inscription, also written so elegantly upon the cold, black obsidian gravestone, was an etching of a single raindrop. This raindrop symbolized what they had found written on a suicide note that they had found in his journal that was dated the day before he died. Also, inside of this journal was an apology towards Harry Potter, for using him to vent out his frustrations and anger at James Potter, the father of the boy.

In the suicide letter of Harry Potter, there had been a small note at the bottom, apologizing to Severus Snape for using him as a scapegoat for all of his problems and frustrations. He had even gone so far as to thank the man for not treating him like a hero.

It was only a pity that the two had, had the same idea.

Commit suicide on the same day before anyone could ever use them again.

"It's time for us to go." the elderly man, Albus Dumbledore, whispered into the silent air.

"Can't we-" began the dark haired middle aged man, Sirius Black.

"No, Siri', we do need to leave." replied the other middle aged man, Remus Lupin.

"Ron, can I-" Hermione Granger, the teenage girl, began to ask, but Ronald Weasely, the red haired boy, cut her off.

"Yes, you can stay at the Burrow tonight."

With sad, longing looks towards the two graves, the five wizards left, returning to their places of residence to continue to mourn the loss of the two war veterans.

* * *

Deep in the pits of Hell, a teenaged boy with black hair and lightning bolt scar on his forehead was laughing hysterically. He was rolling on the ground, holding his ribs with tears pouring down his face. His cheeks were flushed as he tried to struggle to breath before he was finally able to calm down. When he did, he could help but giggle occasionally. 

"It's not funny!" snarled a dark haired man, glaring fiercely at the teenaged boy in front of him. He was rubbing his behind, wincing in pain.

"Yeah, it is! Voldemort spanked you!" the boy collapsed back into laughter.

"I wouldn't laugh if I were you, Potter. It's your turn next." Voldemort snickered evilly. This silence the boy immediately. The dark haired man began to snicker.

"Shut up Snape!" snapped Harry Potter. Severus Snape just shook his head.

"Make me, Potter." he shot back.

Harry sighed, looking up in exasperation, procrastinating as long as he could the spanking that Voldemort was going to give him. He then glanced at Severus, a small smile making its way across his lips.

"You know, we saved the wizarding world. You'd think we'd go to heaven for it, rather than hell. I mean, bloody hell, we could have at least been ghosts as a reward for our hard efforts." Harry pointed out.

"What makes you think that I wasn't on a mission from god?" Voldemort demanded, breaking into the conversation. "After all, I'm only down here to administer your beginning punishment, then I'm heading on back. Now get over here, Potter!"

* * *

**Would you believe me if I told you that, that came out of nowhere? I can't believe I ended it like that... But then again, it always did annoy me that people would finish their stories with Harry walking away into Heaven, occasionally with someone at his side... **

**Oh well, I'm not changing it. I like it how it is. Cheers! **


End file.
